Mountains, Rocks, Old Age and Bearing Fruit....

Every Wednesday, we read from The Psalms. It's always full of wonderful thoughts from David, the poet and king. This week was no different and it pulled me back into some good/hard memories. The verses: Psalm 92:14, 15a

They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming "The LORD is upright; he is my Rock"...

Quite honestly, I don't like growing old. I don't like saying I'm a "senior". Even the catchy phrase, "seasoned citizen" doesn't take much of the sting out of it. 

These verses caught my attention, though, and gave me hope. I want to bear fruit in my old age. One cannot bear fruit in their old age until they're there! 

Frequently we find in Scripture God being compared to a rock and that's where the memories come in. I've climbed more than a dozen mountains, but one stands out and I'll share a story about that peak. 

October 19, 2013. I sighed as I looked at the robin’s-egg-blue sky. I was tired. The wind ruffled my hair and I glanced down at my dust-covered legs and turned around to find my climbing partner, Jim. This was my eleventh climb up this mountain—and I thought it might be my last one, too. We had a lot of history, this famous mountain and I, Mt. St. Helens. Before 1980, the ice-cream-cone- shaped mountain was 9,677 feet. The volcanic peak erupted and was reduced by more than 1,300 feet.

I thought back to my first time up. It was hot that August day in 1988. I was excited to climb any mountain, and especially this one. My husband Bill was there. So was my 15 year old daughter, Erika. It was a long, hot, dusty trudge up the sandy, rock-covered mountain. Most of the snow was gone—at least on the trail. There were dirty piles of drifts farther away. It took about eight hours to summit. The last part of the climb was a loose sandy slope. You would take one step and slide down several feet. Then you’d try again and gain a few more feet. But the view at the top was worth the climb. The crater is much, much larger than it looks from the fifty-some miles away at my Vancouver home. An airplane droned in the distance as we gazed at the huge hole. In the center of the crater it looked like a tiny toy airplane. So small in that huge place. We rested on the windy summit, putting our jackets on. Hungrily eating our lunches of cheese and bagels while snapping photos of each other. I saved my Snickers bar for the way down, rewarding myself. The climb down was even harder than going up. My quads were tired and wobbly, my feet uncertain. But I continued the descent, glad we were on our way back home. We got pizza to treat ourselves on the two hour drive home.

This time was different. I was 25 years older, but the mountain had evolved too. Its sandy slope merged among large chunks of massive rocks. In the parking lot our leader said, “See you at the top!” And he turned and went on his way. No words of caution or instruction. We looked at each other and I thought this is really different than with Bill. I comforted myself with the fact I was an experienced climber and was in good physical shape. I could do this!

On that first climb in 1988, Bill had been the capable leader. He gave a speech before the climb began. All of the climbers were anxious to get moving, but they circled around him and listened, shuffling in their climbing clothes, clutching a walking stick, adjusting their backpacks. You knew you could feel safe with Bill. He knew the climb and would try to keep everyone safe. He would finish with this admonition: “No one goes in front of me or behind Bob, my assistant leader. Stay in the group and we’ll have a good time.” During any hike or mountain climb, Bill would frequently check everyone. “Do you have any hot spots on your feet? Did you get a good drink of water?” During the climb, Bill gave us a rest every hour for ten minutes. Those breaks were important to keep up the stamina. At those rest stops, we looked at the views of far-away Portland and other mountain peaks:  Mt. Hood, Mt. Rainier, and Mt Adams. “OK, guys, time to get going!” Bill said after ten minutes. We’d reluctantly pull on our packs, adjust them on our backs, and slowly continue the ascent.

Bill and Erika on that first ascent - Jay Mosser, Erika's youth leader also in the photo

Setting moon on the Ptarmigan Trail up to Monitor Ridge

But this was now. 2013. We trudged ahead through the nearly dark forest trail up to Monitor Ridge, the route we took up the climb. It gradually became steeper and soon we needed to shed some clothes even though it was a cool October morning. As we began to clear the trees, we gasped at the setting shimmering full moon. This is why I do this! I thought. We stopped at the last “real” restroom, a smelly, composting toilet in the woods. As we entered the timberline, I glanced up at the formidable pile of rocks. Large posts placed in strategic places marked the route. It looked different to me. There were more large refrigerator-sized rocks to climb over. The sand over the years had blown away and now it was more of a rock climb.Take one step. Then another. It was hard. Harder than the last time. I sighed again and looked back at Jim. “How are you doing, honey?”

“I’m doing fine. How much farther to the top?”

“Oh, quite a bit further.” I didn’t want to discourage him. I’d told him about false summits that trick you into thinking you’re nearly there when you aren’t. We continued at a good pace. The huge rocks were challenging and the hourly breaks felt good. I munched on some trail mix and drank some Gatorade and said to Jim. “Mark, our climbing leader, is different than Bill. I hope we’re going the right way.” I glanced around and didn’t see anyone nearby. We stood, put on our packs and began climbing again. As we mantled—putting our arms on the rock above, drawing our legs and bodies up to the next set of rocks— I saw some climbers much farther to my right. Yikes! We were in the wrong spot! I was afraid we might get into a precarious place and told Jim we needed to head that way. Finally, we were near some other people and I felt better. We kept slogging along the rocks and some sand. I just wanted to quit, but I knew we needed to get to the top. If for no one but Jim. As I sighed and moved slowly upward, I heard Jim saying something out loud.

“You have searched me, LORD, and you know me.You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar….”

“It helps me when I quote the Psalms when I’m having a hard run. I figure it will work for this, too.”

“Thank you,” I gasped. “It does.” 

“Oh look.” Jim said. “I see Andrew and Caleb over there.” My two grandsons, aged 14 and 12 nearly jogged up the rocks. “There’s Erika, too. Wow, your daughter’s in good shape. Look at her go!”

“Hurrah! You made it!” Andrew and Caleb shouted to us as we slowly made our way up the last slope to the summit. We gave high-fives to each other, took our packs off and sat down to eat our lunch. Ah, at last. We made it. The view on top was worth it. So huge. A screaming silence. You could hear the voices of the climbers, but they sounded muted. Like the awesome greatness pulled the sound out of them. 

Our trip down wasn’t any easier. We were tired and the rocks seemed even bigger. At one point, Jim was on a narrow ridge and turned back for a moment. He forgot about his backpack that added extra width to his body and it hit the wall next to him. He lost his balance and fell about six feet off the narrow path onto a large rock below. He sat for a few moments before answering my worried question, “are you all right?” He was quiet for a moment, because he really didn’t know for certain. He seemed to be all right, but we took it a little slower to avoid another fall. Finally, we made it to the tree line where it was a level pathway and as the sun was going down, the warm afternoon turned into a cool, fall evening. 

“You did it, honey!” I told Jim.

“Thank-you for letting me come along.” He said. “I’m glad we made it, but I don’t care if we never climb St. Helens again!”

Summit of St. Helens. L - R: Andrew, Jim, Shirley, Erika, Caleb

“I think I’m done with it too. Eleven times is enough!”

No matter where you are. A seasoned citizen or somewhat younger, you have this promise when you put your trust in our Savior. They will still bear fruit in old age as well as the best part of the passage, The LORD is upright; he is my Rock....

Without the Rock, the rest wouldn't matter. So, I will continue on--seasoned citizen that I am, because I know I can depend on the Rock.The Rock is trustworthy and good. 

Ascent up Mt Hood some years ago

It's OK to Mourn......

I've been thinking about a passage we read this past week about two great men in the Bible who performed miracles and spoke out for God in the Old Testament. They were Elijah and Elisha. As a child, I loved hearing the stories of the miracles they performed. Elijah confronted more than one king. Prophesied there would be a three year drought. He prayed for the only child of a widow who died, and the child's life was restored. He drenched an altar for sacrifice with barrels of water, prayed and asked God to light the fire--and it was lit. Elijah performed miracles and ran a marathon when his life was in danger. As he grew older, he knew he needed a companion and helper and he called Elisha. 

Soon, it was time for Elijah to die. Elisha knew this was going to happen, but he didn't want to let him go for he loved him so much. Elijah, the elder, was given a special blessing in that he did not have to die, but was taken to heaven alive. .....a chariot of fire appeared, drawn by horses of fire. It drove between them, separating them, and Elijah was carried by a whirlwind into heaven. Wow! Amazing to me, was Elisha's reaction. Elisha saw it and cried out, My father! My father! The chariots and charioteers of Israel! And as they disappeared from sight, Elisha tore his robe in two. (2 Kings 2: 11, 12) Even though Elisha knew his mentor was going to heaven, he still wept and cried out in grief. It's a normal human reaction. I could give many more examples of godly people in the face of loss where they wept in their grief. Even our Lord and Savior grieved and wept at the loss of his friend.

Jim and I lead a group of people who are going through the great loss of their loved ones, called GriefShare.(www.GriefShare.org) Some sit in silence. Others weep and weep as they recall their loss. Some try to be brave and not cry. They try to be strong. 

I don't think our society allows for the mourning period. They give a three day funeral leave and then expect us to return to work in full capacity. My dearest friend wrote last week how she was dealing with her father's death--and how her mind just wasn't working right. She expressed it so eloquently and with her permission, I'm going to include part of what she said:

Grief, it apparently makes you stupid. Or forgetful, same thing really...Things I've done include telling an old family friend from Vancouver Island that Daddy's service was at 1. It was at 11. Of course he missed it. When giving my parents address to my best friend I wrote it down incorrectly (folks have lived here 48 years!). Miraculously they found it! Failed to alert a close friend that we had set the date and time for the service.....I also forgot to make our house payment...that got done yesterday. There's more, but you get the idea.

Dear friends, if you are in mourning, give yourself permission to do just that. Mourn. Remember the person you've said goodbye to. Weep. Forgive your forgetfulness. It's all part of the process. As you walk the road of grief, it will have roadblocks, detours, and "traffic jams". Just keep walking and press on. You will get to the other side of grief. But it takes time and work to get there. Don't give up.

If heroes of the Bible grieve and mourn. If our Savior grieved the death of his friend, we can too. At some point in the future, we can say we've completed our time of mourning. Elisha, the younger, continued the work of his mentor Elijah--and performed even more miracles than Elijah. 

We don't have to perform miracles. Observe what Solomon, the wisest man on earth said:

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot....a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.

(Ecclesiastes 3:1-4)

Take the time to mourn and weep. Walk the road of grief. You will get to the other side, I promise. You might even dance. 

Valentine's Day Thoughts

Valentine's Day brings a conundrum of emotions. If you're young, it's very exciting to sign all of those valentines for your class mates and have a party at school, where there are games and sweets and fun cards to open. My granddaughters were excitedly talking about the Valentine box they were each making to put the cards in for their party today.

When we're past the young innocent days where there are no more parties at school, a teenaged girl might wish for a special sweetheart to share the day with a card and gift. I was seventeen on the first Valentine's Day when I had a sweetheart. The two pound box of Van Duyn's Chocolates tasted so good. I shared some of the locally made confection, but also gluttonously ate a lot of it by myself. That sweetheart was my late husband, Bill. He remembered Valentine's Day each year before we were married but that wasn't the case after we were married. One year, I recall sending him to the store to get something. Let's say it was apples that were on sale at Fred Meyer's. I dreamt he would see the many displays of Valentines and gifts and think I need to get something for Shirley. Unfortunately, he didn't see them, for he was looking for apples! After several years of disappointments and secret tears when he didn't remember--I thought just a card. That's all he needs to remember! I learned something finally after years of frustration and hurt. Some men--perhaps your man--just does not think of those things. I finally realized I needed to tell Bill that it was Valentine's week and he needed to get me something! Sometimes I told him what I wanted. Other times, I let him decide. But I reminded him of the day. Lots less drama that way. Of course later--like maybe twenty years--he figured it out and did remember, but not in those early years. When my family still lived at home, I'd make a very special dinner with a heart shaped cake with pink frosting. Both of the children would receive a gift with cut out hearts all over the package. Bill got one, too.

There were Valentine's Days when I was alone--my heart was broken, too. There were seven of those days by myself. I learned by this time to make my own day.  After my sweethearts were gone, I still made the day special. One time, my dear sister left her own sweetheart and came down from Seattle specifically to take me to dinner for she knew I'd be alone for the first time in more than forty years. Another day, a friend and I went out to dinner together. 

It's so fun to have a sweetheart on this day of love, but sometimes it just isn't so. For those of you who are in this condition, I recommend you make your day special. What would you like someone to give you? If you have the funds to do it, buy yourself a gift. Wrap it up. Then open it. Take yourself out to dinner. Invite a friend to go with you. Invite some single friends to have dinner at your house. Make it special for them.  Babysit a young couple who don't have a babysitter--or grandparents--to watch their children. Try to get away from feeling sorry for yourself and do something for someone else--sweetheart or not. 

It may not be the same as having a special person to celebrate with you, but it is better than feeling sorry for yourself all alone. Try it. You have one more day to plan!

Super Bowl--Seahawks--Steelers--Patriots

It was 2006. Super Bowl XL. I wasn't watching it that year. We were planning a memorial service. Our pastor and numerous family members and friends were gathered at our home, talking about Bill Rudberg, my husband of forty years. It was a comforting time, really. Hearing different stories about Bill and how he touched others' lives. After a couple of hours, we were finished. Pastor Paul had some good ideas to incorporate into his sermon for the memorial service. The two grandsons, Andrew, age six, and Caleb age five, were too young to sit still for that length of time. They went to Aunt Connie's home where they watched the Seahawks and Steelers fight it out. The Steelers won, 21-10. Aunt Connie (she's not their biological aunt, just a great friend) explained the plays to the boys and they were rooting for the 'Hawks of course.

Fast forward a few more years. 2010. Super Bowl XLIV--the Saints VS the Colts. Score: 31 - 17. It was another important day to remember. This was a Super Bowl Wake for Blair Graybill, my husband of seventeen months. His memorial service was just one day earlier. Blair was a huge football fan and in the two years he knew Andrew and Caleb, he taught them about the game. They were enthusiastic learners and both grew to love football. Earlier, Blair and Caleb decided they were for the Colts. Andrew was for the Saints. While numerous family members cheered on their team, we ate Buffalo Hot Wings, chips and dip, sandwiches, many beverages, and lots of sweets. Some of us didn't watch the game, but looked at old photos and reminisced. Some of us were still in shock, not  really being aware of much, except that a prominent person was no longer there. When the game was over, half of the crowd was cheering and happy. The other half, sad. One little boy, now nine years old was sobbing in a room by himself. He was sad that his team lost. But the tears really weren't about the game. It was about the terrible loss of the person who had rooted with him for the Colts during the season.  Caleb and I cried together that afternoon.

The next year, 2011, we watched the game. It was now a tradition to do so. We ate, yelled at the television. And cheered our team.

Fast forward another three years. 2014, Super Bowl XLVIII. It was the Seahawks again, versus the Broncos with a big win: 43 - 8. The boys were bigger this year. Fourteen and thirteen. There was a new member in the family now: my new husband, Jim Mozena. We ate meatballs, freshly made French bread, chips and dip, nachos and many types of beverages to choose from. We cheered loudly. And our team won handily! Finally, the 'Hawks made their Super Bowl win. With satisfaction we turned off the TV.

The following football season, we watched "our" team every chance we got. We all were rooting for the 'Hawks and Russell Wilson.

Super Bowl XLIX. Of course we were getting together again to watch the game. We, along with most Washingtonians were for the 'Hawks. Would all the family get together again to watch? There were some more new family members. My new stepson Kevin and granddaughter Rowan came while Kerri, our daughter-in-law, worked at the hospital. This year, the two boys decided they wanted to watch the game with their football buddies and not with us. I felt sad they weren't coming, but I also understood things change with time and we have to flow with the change and not resist it too much.  We all know the outcome of the game. From all of the posts on Facebook, people are still thinking about it. I just read Coach Pete Carroll can't sleep, thinking about that last pass. 

Soon, we won't be chattering about football and the final game. It will be another sport or big event.  What I do know for sure, is that things can change quickly. I don't know who'll be at the Super Bowl L.  If the 'Hawks are playing, of course we'll root for them. If I'm still here on Earth (and I fully plan to be, Lord willing), we'll have a Super Bowl Party. I'm not sure who'll be here. I do know times change. Children grow up and don't cry in front of people anymore. They want to watch games with their friends more than their family. It's all part of life. 

I've been on Earth long enough now to know how quickly the years pass. Just this past Wednesday, I attended a graveside service for a cousin ten years younger than myself. Yesterday, I heard of a classmate who was on the class reunion committee with me and entered eternity yesterday morning. We don't know what's around the next corner. What twists life will bring us. What I know for sure is that our God is faithful. He never changes. He will be here with us.

In I Thessalonians 5: 16-18 it says, Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus. Later in the text, it says the One who calls you is faithful, and He will do it (24).

I can rest that I do not know the future, but I know Who has called me. And will be faithful. He will do it.